Attunement, Stability and the Courage to sit in the unknown.
I had found myself waiting for today to open my cards, because this month held so much longing, curiosity and awareness.
Like a song that has a familiar crescendo followed by a dope bass drop, I opened the envelope and felt an immediate uh-huh.
Not loud. Not demanding.
But steady. Clear. Unmistakable.
Attunement.
I pulled this card whilst I am attending my weeklong tuning forks workshop, surrounded by vibration, resonance, and the quiet intelligence of sound moving through the body. And I couldn’t ignore the poetry of it.
This isn’t just a concept this month.
It’s a practice.
A returning.
A remembering that my body knows before my mind tries to solve.
That my nervous system tells the truth long before words do.
That I don’t need to reach outside of myself to find the signal.
I just need to listen.
This month also holds something tender.
An important birthday milestone that came… quietly. Not mine, not quite yet, but one I had shared 25 times over, but not this time. I had to honor the space.
With silence. With the kind of stillness that doesn’t let you escape yourself.
And instead of filling it…
I sat in it.
I let the silence be what it was.
Uncomfortable. Honest. Real.
And in that space, I realized something:
I am learning how to be with what is—
without trying to fix it, soften it, or rush it away.
Hello boundaries…
In class today, we practiced something that felt bigger than technique.
We learned how to align the body with sound.
How to sit with another person, listen to their story, set intention—
and then simply witness.
Not solve.
Not rescue.
Not fill the space.
Just acknowledge.
Just hold.
Just be present with what’s true.
And it hit me…
Look at what I have witnessed in the last 18 months.
The pain.
The silence.
The chaos.
The unraveling.
And then… the stillness.
Somewhere in all of that, something in me didn’t break.
It opened.
Into this quiet, steady capacity to hold.
To feel without drowning.
To see without turning away.
To stay without abandoning myself.
And now, somehow, that same energy is becoming something I can offer to others.
The ability to hold space.
To listen deeply.
To tune the body with sound.
To meet someone exactly where they are—without needing to change them.
I have so much gratitude for the forks, now I have something to share. Not to fix, not to sooth for my own needs, just to be there for a stranger, a friend or a fellow healer.
That feels like a gift.
Not one I forced.
Not one I chased.
One that was forged.
Alongside attunement came Stability.
Not the rigid kind. Not the performative kind.
But the kind that is built slowly, internally—choice by choice.
The kind that says:
I will not abandon myself to feel connected.
I will not override what I know to chase what I hope.
I will not trade groundedness for temporary closeness.
And then, the medicine:
“I don’t need certainty today.”
Because I don’t.
Even here.
Even now.
Even with everything that has been lost, shifted, or left unanswered.
I don’t need to figure it all out to be okay, at least not today.
I can sit in the unknown.
I can breathe inside the question.
I can let things be unfinished without making it mean something is wrong.
The tarot grounded it even further.
Six of Pentacles.
A recalibration of giving and receiving.
No more overextending.
No more pouring into places that can’t hold me.
Reciprocity isn’t something I chase anymore.
It’s something I recognize.
And then, The Emperor.
Not control—but self-leadership.
The version of me who stands in her life with quiet authority and says:
This is what I allow.
This is what I choose.
This is where I stand.
I start this month differently.
Not in sadness for what I’ve been through—
but in gratitude.
Gratitude for my resilience.
Gratitude for my capacity to feel and still remain.
Gratitude for the way I am finding my way back to myself.
Because I am.
Even here.
Even now.
I don’t know what lies ahead.
But I know this:
I can sit in the unknown and be present today.
With sound.
With vibration.
With breath.
With the quiet, steady frequency of hope
that reminds me—
I will bounce back.
May mantra:
I stay with myself.
I honor the silence.
I trust what is unfolding—even when I cannot see it yet.
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